Ex-Sex
Monday, March 27, 2006
This sexual fantasy is more of an emotional journey. It concerns an ex-boyfriend. And my alma mater. And yes, there is TIME TRAVEL involved.
In this fantasy, my ex flies in from NY and brings with him this lighter (don’t ask me how he gets it on the plane) but it’s one of those little neon-plastic-rectangular boxes only it’s MORE than just a lighter, it’s this FLAME that can bend TIME.
So anyway he rings the bell to let me know he’s arrived and I can see immediately I’m improperly dressed. My ex is wearing ripped jeans and tan Teva sandals looking very 1997 and I feel SELFCONSCIOUS. I ask him if he thinks I otta change into this grey polar fleece I’ve got upstairs.
My ex grabs my hand in this seemingly frustrated haphazard sort of way but I know he’s glad to see me because his cock is already hard, and he’s looking at me MEANINGFULLY and when I ask him why he’s holding my hand SO TIGHT he replies, “Because I don’t want to lose you.”
There’s a pause.
“I mean. I don’t want to lose you in some Rip in time.”
He’s got this unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth and he’s speaking kind of mumb-ly, saying “You ready?” already thumbing his lighter, bringing the flame to the end of his Marlboro, and taking a few puffs as we spin through the years back to our former (or is it present?) college campus.
I don’t know the exact way a time-travel-cigarette-lighter works, but suddenly I’m afraid of revisiting this sexual-encounter because I’ve heard (repeatedly) that TIME TRAVEL requires discretion. Apparently if you don’t proceed cautiously with inhabiting someone’s cock in THE PAST you can really FUCK the FUTURE UP, and it makes me wonder if ex-sex is really worth it.
Pondering……………………………….Ok. Yes. A large part of me thinks it is.
So I’m standing in my ex’s totally empty (pre-move-in) mattress-bared dorm room and he’s looking at me. Checking out my ass and my chest and I’m trying to get my bearings when he REQUESTS I give him this MASSAGE:
“C’mon. I’ll pay you $20 bucks if you do it naked.”
What I want to say is, “That’s precisely your former dialogue!” or “You look exactly like you did at 21!” But what ends up being vocalized is, “No way I’m giving you a NAKED MASSAGE because WE’RE NOT DATING,” which is what I’d said (verbatim) all those years before.
He stretches out on one of the plastic-y covered mattresses:
“Just take off your clothes…….it’s not like we’re going to fuck.”
This is going really WELL! It’s odd how the pre-2006 dialogue just gurgles up and comes out of your throat, only this time I give certain words added emphasis, and he’s doing the same and we figure out quickly there is room for PLAY in our massage-bartering-sexual-re-enactment.
For example, when I take off my clothes and straddle the cradle of his bare lower back, I don’t just massage his shoulders. I run my hands along his gluteus maximus, I take time to appreciate his well-developed thighs. I’m finger-palm handling him from his toes all the way up to his dark hair-locks and I put more LOVE into this time, ’cause I’m aware our relationship will end (has ended) but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about him. I care about him ALOT.
So. The next action my ex TAKES is to engage in this semi-acrobatic maneuver, FLIPPING ME OVER so I’m beneath him, wrist-pinned by his naked, muscular arms. And while he does listen to my, “but-you-SAID-you-weren’t-going-to-fuck-me” PROTEST.
He REPLIES with: “Your words are halfhearted” and “I NEVER said I wouldn’t make you come.”
His language is forceful but his fingering-hand is soft and the part where he refuses to fuck me until-I-BEG-FOR-IT is just the same, so of course we DO end up fucking. We end up fucking on BOTH of those single-regulation dormroom beds.
And afterwards he picks up his still-burning (mostly-ashes) Marlboro-cigarette and takes this long, filter-reaching puff. And I guess this TRIGGERS something b/c suddenly we’re spinning towards 2006 (to think our time-in-the-past was based on cigarette-longevity) and in no time we reach my apartment.
Admittedly, as I walk him to his cab, I’m a little sad to see him go. But my ex kisses me on the forehead, and I kiss him on his nose-tip, and when I tell him thankyou, that’s not just me being polite, I tell him:
“Thanks again!”
And I MEAN it. I ENJOY fuck-rendezvous(s) in time.
© 2005 Milly Sanders All Rights